


Strawberry Flavored

by sharkie335



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-21
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie335/pseuds/sharkie335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Jell-O wrestling?</i>  Not happening, Dean!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strawberry Flavored

**Author's Note:**

> For fics4books, bipagan wanted jell-o wrestling, any fandom. The only one I could make it work in was Supernatural. And I _still_ can't believe that you actually made me write this. I'm so ashamed. Sorry!

Sam flipped through the meager contents of his wallet, hoping that he'd missed something the last three times he'd looked. But it yielded no more money than it had previously. He glanced over at Dean, hoping that his luck would be better, only to be met with a brusque shake of the head.

"Well, crap," Sam said.

"I'll second that."

They should have some new cards waiting for them at the PO box in Tennessee. The problem was that they were in New Orleans, with no money for gas. They didn't even have the money for a stake in a poker game, which meant that they were essentially fucked.

"You could always strip for tips," Dean said, looking Sam over. "You're not half bad looking, after all. Must be the genes we share."

"Dude, you've seen me dance," Sam scoffed. "There's no way. Why don't you do it?"

"Let's not go there," Dean said, looking pained.

But Sam couldn't leave that alone - not with that look on Dean's face. "No, really, Dean. I've seen you dance. You could pull in a couple of hundred bucks, easy."

Dean didn't argue with him. Instead he sped up, walking down Bourbon Street. Sam had to really stretch his legs to keep up, which, given that he was four inches taller than Dean, meant that he was really hustling, and desperate to drop the conversation.

Just as Sam was winding up for another poke at the subject, Dean came to a sudden halt, looking in a bar window. Sam followed his gaze, and then shook his head. "No way in hell, Dean." Dean was already disappearing through the door, and Sam swore. No way in hell was he following Dean in there.

He'd decided to walk away when Dean opened the door, grabbed him by the jacket and dragged him inside. " _Jell-O wrestling?_ Not happening, Dean!"

"Shut up, Sam. We can make five hundred dollars, which will be enough to get us to Tennessee. And how hard will it be?"

Dean dragged him through the crowded bar. He tried his best to ignore the two men wrestling in the tub of red Jell-O at the front of the room.

Sam fumed, but Dean had already turned to negotiate with the bar owner. Before Sam could interrupt or leave, she was looking him over and clearly liking what she saw if the way that her eyebrows went up meant anything. "The two of you? Darlin', for that, I'd pay you seven-fifty."

Shit. Now they really couldn't afford to back down. And she sealed the deal with, "Plus, any tips you boys make will be your own, of course."

With a sigh, he nodded. Dean was grinning widely, and pushed Sam to follow as she led the way into the back.

The smile fell off his face when he saw the "costume" she expected them to wear. Sam bit his lip until she left, and then he shook the g-string in Dean's face. "Strippers keep more on, Dean!"

Dean looked stubborn, already stripping out of his clothes, carefully disarming himself and folding his gun inside his shirt so that no one could see it. "Shut up and strip, Samantha. The sooner we do this, the sooner it'll be over."

Sam sputtered, but ultimately he couldn't think of a way out of it, so he stripped off too, hesitating when he got to his boxers. But Dean had taken his off and was already pulling the g-string into place, so Sam did it too.

The g-string was tight and itchy, with a cord of elastic that ran right up Sam's ass crack. He thought to himself that he was glad to have seen the rows of packages of unopened ones, because the thought of wearing one that had been previously worn by someone else made his skin crawl.

When he looked up, he saw that Dean had wrapped himself up in a robe, and he followed suit. They had time to kill, because the two men who'd been wrestling had seemed pretty evenly matched.

There was a cheer from the front of the bar, and then two red-coated men came back, laughing and hanging all over each other. One was wearing a g-string that matched Sam and Dean's. The other was completely naked. "What the fuck?" Sam squawked.

"Didn't I tell you?" Dean looked innocent, which was never a good thing. "The winner is determined by who ends up naked?"

"No, you most certainly didn't tell me that!"

"Oops?"

Sam just glared at Dean as the bar owner motioned for the two of them to come out. Dean dropped his robe on a chair and strutted out, bare-chested and practically bare-assed. On the other hand, Sam wanted nothing more than to hide in the shadows, and he was sure that that was coming across just fine in his body language.

She led them to the large pool of Jell-O. "Okay, boys. First one of you to lose the g-string loses! And make it good."

Dean jumped in and waded to the other side, then waited for Sam to gingerly get in as well. The Jell-O was warm, and Sam could feel how sticky it was. This was _nasty_. Before he could adjust, though, Dean tackled him from the side, knocking him full length into the stuff.

He tried to grab Dean, but he slid right out of Sam's reach, and then rubbed a handful of Jell-O into Sam's hair. Oh, it was _on_.

Then it was like any other wrestling match they'd ever been in, just more slippery and sticky. It was almost impossible to get a grip on Dean, and Sam growled in frustration, attempting to pin him with pure body weight. When that failed, he grabbed him in a leg lock.

That worked for a minute, but before Sam could figure out how to get Dean's g-string off, Dean had broken the hold. He pinned Sam in turn, arm twisted up behind him.

It went back and forth for close to twenty minutes before Dean managed to land just perfectly on Sam's solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. By the time he caught his breath, Dean was standing, waiving Sam's g-string like a fucking flag. He was also paying no attention to Sam.

Sam couldn't let that pass, and managed to hook a hand in the back of Dean's g-string before pulling him off balance. Yanking off Dean's "costume," he stood and waved it at the screaming women. Money rained down on the stage, and he grinned. From the looks of things, they just might clear a thousand.

The bar owner showed up after a minute to walk them back to the dressing room, where the next two men waited, blushing painfully red in their skimpy costumes. "Shower and then come find me. I'll pay you then. Are you available tomorrow night?"

"No, ma'am," Dean answered, unashamedly standing there naked, Jell-O dripping off his body. "We're leaving town tonight."

"Shame," she said, turning to leave.

After their showers, and Sam felt like he was _never_ going to get all the Jell-O out of his hair, they got paid and made their way back to the impala. "That wasn't so bad," Dean said. "Too bad we have other places to be, or we could do it again. Maybe the next time we're in New Orleans?"

Sam just glared.


End file.
